


Love You To Death

by orphan_account



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, M/M, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Soft Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22751569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ever since the first fight with Pennywise, Richie has been acting... off. He zones out way too often, seemingly talks to the air, never really eats, and laughs at nothing. It wasn't like he had meant to act so different, but you just have to take what life throws at you and do your best.It also doesn't help that he keeps seeing his dead best friend.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & The Losers Club, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Love You To Death

+-+-+ 5 months left +-+-+

"You gotta at least eat something Rich," Bev spoke softly, nudging Richie's shoulder with her own.

Beverly took a quick glance around the cafeteria table, watching the expressions of her fellow losers.

(Mike wasn't there as he was still homeschooled, but she liked to assume he was feeding the sheep around the farm and not shooting them. He was too nice for that weight on his shoulders.)

There was Ben sitting across from her, a sack of homemade food set out in front of him. He was scooping some pudding with a cafeteria spoon from a pudding cup, watching Richie carefully. Ben's expression was sullen, but his eyes were brighter than they were last week. Ben always seemed to know more than he let on, and this seemed like one of those situations, or close to it. It seemed like he was looking for something, searching Richie for some explanation for his attitude. He didn't seem to find one, and turned to Beverly with a small smile and returned to eating.

Stan was a different story. His posture was poor, and his tear filled eyes were glued downward on his plate, where he was slowly stirring the macaroni they served for today's school lunch around. He didn't speak, only lifted his grief ridden eyes to Richie in concern for a moment. He quickly returned his gaze to his meal, electing not to speak in fear of it breaking.

Much like Stan, Bill messes with his school meal. He only had a little bite taken out of the muffin, his milk and other food left untouched. He had tears in his eyes, and he sniffed every once and a while. Bill didn't bother to look up at Richie, preferring to let his tear streaked face be hidden from view. He shivered slightly in his jacket, with his armed wrapped around himself. From what Bev saw, he was in pain. It was a lot of grief for a 13 year old to be carrying, and it was weighing him down.

Richie? Richie looked, for lack of better words, dead. His skin was sickeningly pale, with bones sticking out awkwardly. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, and his hair unkempt. Worst of all was his eyes. In his gaze there was no traces of humor or laughter, they were emotionless. They stared at nothing and everything at the same time, with a feverish intensity that he seemed to be unaware of. But most of all, he was numb. No tears were in his eyes, and they were clear of of grief and misery. It was unnerving.

"Nah, my stomach has been feeling funny. Don't really wanna upset it. Besides, I don't have any food." Richie turned his dead eyes on her, and she quickly turned away. She locked eyes with Ben, and they made quiet conversation. The bell sounded throughout the room, and the five kids turned to their own respective classes.

"Think they'll get better soon?" Ben gripped the arm straps to his bag, walking beside Beverly to their shared class.

"I believe they will. Just gotta give em some time, they'll pull through." Bev reassured Ben, and held the door open for him. They settled into their seats, and began their history lesson.

+-+-+ 2 months left +-+-+

It was a sunny day at the quarry. The water was refreshing, and it instantly cooled the losers down when they stepped in. There were little to no clouds in the sky, and a slight breeze blew through the trees.

Ben and Beverly were splashing around in the water, playing games with and against each other in the cool water. They occasionally ducked down underneath the surface, but always resurfaced within the minute. They were having fun in their own little world, and it made them all happy, if only slightly.

Mike and Stan were a little ways away, closer to the shore. They were in at waist height, with Mike floating on his back and Stan standing normally, if not slouched over a little bit. They seemed to be in deep conversation, with Mike doing a majority of the talking. Stan listened intensely, keeping his mind off of darker things.

The other two boys at the quarry were sat upon the rock, content with sitting in each others presence with their backs facing the sun. Bill had his head resting against Richie's shoulder, who didn't seem to really be aware of it, or at least not bothered by it.

"H-h-h-hey R-Rich? Why d-d-didn't y-you wanna g-go in t-t-the w-water? W-w-was it b-because o-of—" Bill was quickly cut off, but the inquiry had already fallen on deaf ears.

Richie's shoulder stiffened, arousing Bill from his position on his shoulder. Bill watched as his wandering gaze latched onto something in the distance. He followed Richie's line of sight, but nothing caught his eye. All he say were a couple of trees on the other side of the lake, and the lake's gentle waves lapped up on the ground below it.

Bill unclasped his hand from the old watch wrapped around his wrist to poke Richie's shoulder.

"R-r-r-Richie? What're y-you lookin a-a-at?" As much as Bill scanned the area, he couldn't find anything of interest in the far away area.

"Nothing. Just thought that I saw something..." Richie's gaze lingered on the area, his eyes glued to the place. Richie took in a wheezy breath, but Bill pushed it to the back of his memory to ask Richie later. Bill looked as if he wanted to say more, but he let it go. He readjusted himself on Richie's shoulder, and put his hand on the watch strapped to his wrist.

As soon as Bill closed his eyes, the watch had an alarm go off. He quickly checked the time.

4:30.

He turned it off, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

+-+-+ 1 month left +-+-+

It was Mike's birthday, and the losers decided to head to the Aladdin to celebrate.

They were going to watch Jurassic Park, and eat tons of popcorn and candy.

Bev sat near the end of the isle, passing down snacks in a line. Everyone had bought their own popcorn, but they went to the convenient store for candy beforehand. It was cheaper, and easy to hide in Bev's bag.

On both ends on their group sat Ben and Mike, who preferred the isle seats over the middle ones. After Ben was Bev, who was sandwiched in by Bill. On Bill's other side was Richie, who was slowly nibbling on a stranding of licorice. Stan was after Richie, leaving Mike to the isle seat.

The settled in for the movie, and the lights began to dim. The movie started to play, leaving it the only noise, besides candy wrappers, in the theatre.

Stan thought it was an okay movie, but was beginning to get a little bored. He was also running out of popcorn. He glanced around, and his eyes latched onto Richie's popcorn. Very full popcorn container might he add. His eyes travelled up to Richie's, concerned as to why Richie was acting weird.

As Stan met Richie's eyes, he could tell that Richie was not in the movies, or at least not mentally. Stan followed his gaze, which had latched onto the seats in the very front.

There was no one in the seats upfront, and nothing of interest was in that general area. As much as Stan scoured the area, he couldn't find anything.

"Richie. You gonna eat your popcorn?" Stan whispers, hoping to catch Richie's attention. He didn't really need the popcorn, he was more concerned as to why Richie was so out of it. He poked his cheek.

"Richie!"

"Oh, hmm? Yeah, I don't care." Richie shook his head, but drifted back to the seats at the front of the theatre.

Richie coughed, and his eyes widened as he recovered from the coughing fit. He quickly shoved his hand into his lap, ignoring Stan's confused expression.

Stan turned to see if anyone else saw the weird interaction. He turned to his right and met Mike's confused gaze.

Stan just shrugged his shoulders, and Mike glanced at Richie uneasily. They both turned back to the movie, occasionally glancing at the boy in question.

What was up with him?

+-+-+ 2 weeks left +-+-+

School was out for a week, and the losers had decided to bike around in celebration. They were currently biking towards the ice cream shop, craving ice cream and sugar. Bev and Mike were the first ones to get there, laying their bikes out of the way and waited for the others to catch up. Bill, Stan, and Ben showed up next, talking casually. They lates their bikes down carefully.

Richie brought up the rear, seemingly lost in thought. He pulled up to the others, and his breath sounded slightly strained. He didn't seem to notice the others concerned glances, and carefully got of the bike.

Richie led the way into the parlor, almost tripping because he wasn't watching where he was going. He was watching something not to far away, but from what Mike could see it was just a couple of people smoking outside the store.

"Uh, Richie? You gotta keep walking man, I need ice cream." Mike nudged Richie.

"Right. Sorry." He shuffled forward, and let the others pass before him. They stared at him weirdly, but didn't refuse going in front of him.

Soon enough it was Richie's turn to order, and the losers watched from a nearby table licking away at their ice cream.

"Two ice cream cones please, one chocolate and one vanilla please." Richie held up two fingers, eyes shifting to something behind him.

"Why'd he order two ice creams? He can barely eat one now." Mike pondered out loud, confused.

They watched as Richie grabbed and paid for the cones, not yet realizing his mistake. They expected him to turn in their direction, but he walked the opposite way.

Richie walked to one of the tables farthest from them, which wasn't too far in the close parlor, and set down the vanilla cone. He stared intensely at the vicinity he was watching earlier.

Richie was quickly enveloped into a series of strong coughs, each one more powerful than the next. As the coughs subsided, Richie leaned on the table for support.

With one last glance at the shop front, Richie walked toward the losers table.

"Richie, you okay? Why'd you pay for an extra cone, man?" Mike rested a hand on his shoulder. 

"He deserves one too."

Richie didn't add more on to the statement, and they were to scared to ask any further.

They were left to wonder what he meant, questions left unanswered.

+-+-+ 5 days left +-+-+

The losers planned to meet up in the clubhouse after discussing in private that they wanted to keep an eye on Richie.

The first to arrive was Ben, who adjusted some of the things around the room. It was starting to get boring and bland.

Soon enough all of the games had been organized and sorted, the support beams had been secured, and the room had been dusted and swept.

As he was finishing throwing away old trash, his eye caught onto the broken paddleball paddle. He sighed sadly, and placed it back down. He glanced around the room.

He bent down to inspect the cracks under the floorboards. Maybe the ball fell under the cracks, he supposed that was possible. He began to look in the cracks of the floor, hoping to find the overpriced red ball.

His eye caught on a gap between the floor boards. Could it be? He quickly crawled over there. Sure enough, a flash of red appeared between the boards. He reached down to grab it, only to be interrupted by a voice.

"Haystack! Why're you crawling around on the floor like that? Anything of interest?"

Bev slid down the ladder, and Ben jumped up in fright. She laughed, and started to stroll towards the hammock.

"Wait! Let's save the hammock for Richie, then maybe we'll have some sense of normalcy around here." Ben shouted, startling Bev in return.

"Good idea, Ben. He's been out of it lately, I bet he'll enjoy it." Stan's voice called out from the hatch, and Bill descended the ladder soon after Stan, nodding his head.

Bev looked slightly peeved, but agreed nonetheless. After all, first come first serve.

"I-It's o-okay Bev, y-you'll get it n-n-next t-time. P-promise."

Soon enough Mike appeared, and they were left waiting for Richie. They chomped down on some trail mix that Mike had brought, with Bev and Stan picking out the M&Ms.

"Hey Ben, Billiam, Bev, Mike, Stan—" Richie's eyes latched onto the empty hammock, eyes glazed slightly over. "—and Eds."

The losers swung around to the hammock, but no one was there. Bill looked down, eyes filled with tears. Stan flinched hard, but masked his sad expression. Mike, Ben, and Bev looked sad, and shared a look.

"Richie? Eddie isn't here. You don't have to hide it from us, you can be sad you know." Bev reassured him, and he looked troubled. Richie opened his mouth as if to say something, but was cut of by a harsh series of coughs.

Richie hunched over, and looked at his elbow, eyes narrowing. Before he could right himself, a second wave of coughs enveloped him, knocking him off his feet. He shuffled to the corner, face hidden in his arm.

Stan jumped up to help him, and Bev went to his other side. Stan rubbed his back, and Bev handed him some water.

"If Eddie was here he's probably be shouting about a thousand different diseases that you might have and infect us with." Bev joked to lighten the atmosphere, but it did little to help.

Richie's coughs tapered our, and his eyes lifted to the empty hammock.

"Yeah, only if he was here." Richie closed his eyes and slumped against Stan, who propped Richie up to drink more water.

"Hey Richie? Maybe you should go home, you don't look too good." Ben looked concerned, and slowly made his way to the trio. Ben glanced down, and ruby red liquid caught his eye. Coating the inside of Richie's arm was blood. Ben gasped, and Richie quickly hid his arm from view.

"Oh Ben, you wound me! Are my looks really so bad?" Richie's voice was shaky, but he smiled nonetheless. He brushed Stan off, and stumbled over to the ladder. He waved goodbye to them and turned to leave.

"I'll see you guys next week, alright? I'm gonna go to bed, I don't feel too good." Richie scrambled up the ladder, not waiting for the losers response.

The losers were left in silence. Bill was clutching Mike's wrist, tears in his eyes. Mike looked unnerved, and looked toward Stan.

"Did anyone else see the blood coating his teeth, or am I going crazy?" Bev said faintly, using Ben's shoulder for support.

"His arm was covered in blood too. He didn't seem all that surprised to see it there, either." Ben looked to the ladder, and back to the hammock. From what he could see there was nothing wrong with the hammock, the most unusual thing was the lack of spiders around it. He chewed his lip, and made the decision to swing by the library on the way home.

"Should we go after him? That isn't normal, guys. No one should be coughing up blood." Bev had a troubled look in her eyes, and was biting her fingernails.

"He'll come to us if he needs help." Stan looked uncertain that his statement was true, but it reassured her nonetheless. After all, Stan knew Richie the best.

"The hammock's open now if you want it Bev," Ben said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Bev didn't want to sit in the hammock anymore though. Something about the way Richie was staring at it unnerved her. There was nothing in the hammock, but Richie definitely saw something that no one else had.

A shiver ran up her spine.

+-+-+ 5 hours left +-+-+

Ben loved the library. Libraries were brimming with knowledge and power, and anything you could possibly want to learn about could be found within the pages of a book. The smell of parchment and ink meshed and created such a soothing scent, it was way better than any perfume or cologne you could ever hope to find in a store. The quiet atmosphere was perfect for concentrating, and Ben knew that he could fall asleep in the library if he tried.

Sometimes the library made him panic, memories from when he was taunted by Pennywise's tricks still fresh in his mind. He knew that whatever he saw wasn't real, but he can't help the small amount of terror that's frozen in his bones whenever he steps into the library.

As much as Ben would love to fall asleep to the smell of ink and the sound of pencils scratching against paper, he had a mission today. He strolled up to the librarians desk and rang the small bell.

"Mr. Hanscom! Wonderful seeing you today, what can I get for you?" The librarian chirped. She had a purple dress on, with little shapes covering the majority of the fabric. She wore a black cardigan over the dress, and a couple of necklaces were wrapped around her neck.

Ben waved, and smiled at her politely.

"Do you have a section of medical records or doctors books? I'm researching something for a school project, and I can't seem to find a name for the problem." Although he wasn't doing a school project, he wasn't lying about looking for doctor's journals and records. The losers had assigned Ben to the job of looking for what might be happening to Richie in hopes of helping their friend. The librarian hummed.

"They're on the last shelf, near the back. They take up about half of that case," the librarian thought for a second, tapping her chin. "What does the disease sound like, what're the symptoms? Maybe I can help save you some time looking through those dusty old things."

Ben paused for a moment. Should he tell her? It could possibly save him some time, and they could get closer to getting the help Richie needed. Not everyone coughs up blood, and shakes it off. Decision made, he explain the situation to the curious librarian.

"Well, the 'patient' keeps seeing people. Specifically one person from what we've gathered, except none of us can actually seem to see them, except the patient. There's no one actually there. It's happened a couple of times, and it always seem to appear closer every time, or at least it seems like it. They also keep on having bad coughing fits, and last time I saw that they had hacked up a ton of blood. It was really dark too. And I don't think it was the first time that it had happened either, they didn't seem surprised to see it on their arm. He also keeps on wheezing, almost as if he developed some type of asthma over the last two months." Ben sucked on his lip, deep in thought. He searched his memory for anything that might be concerning, but nothing really stuck out to him. He didn't seem to realize how he switched points of view, but the librarian did. She paled, and hastily got up.

"I've never heard of such a disease," the librarian paused, and Ben's shoulders slumped. He mentally prepared himself for looking through dusty journals for the next couple of hours. "But I think I know what you're talking about. Follow me."

Ben eagerly followed the librarian throughout the tall bookcases, hopeful for finding the source of Richie's problems.

"You know, someone else came in a couple of weeks ago asking about something similar. Had coke bottle glasses, too big for their face. Usually people don't even know about it, considering it's so rare. Schools don't teach it, parents never talk about it, and medical fields have little studies on the case.

They weaves through the wooden shelves, and came to a stop in front of a shelf. It certainly didn't have any medical journals or studies on it.

"Aren't the medical journals in the other direction? This is—" Ben glanced up, looking for the bookshelf label. "—mythological myths and tales? I love a good folks tale as much as the next ma'am, but I really need to get working on my project. I'm meeting up with my group later, and I need to have as much of my research done as possible—"

"Hush now Mr. Hanscom. Now let me see... Aha!" She pulled a thin book out of the shelf, and made her way towards an empty table in the back. Ben tried taking a glance at the cover, hoping to find a title for the book. The book was hit by a sunbeam, leaving the letters glow for a few seconds.

'Cases of the Supernatural and Other Mysterious Phenomena.'

Ben couldn't catch the author's name, the librarian was moving too fast to read it. He didn't have to wait long to see it though, as the librarian quickly pulled out a chair and set the book down. She flipped to a page near the back of the book, where the contents were faded and the pages were crisp with old age. She flipped the book around, so that Ben can read what it said. 

'Soulmates: A Study' July 23, 1904

"Soulmates, although uncommon, are very real. There are very few of these cases, perhaps 200 for every billion people, with these calculations dropping at alarming rates as time passes. We can assume that the phenomenon of having a soulmate will be eradicated by the year 2020.

Soulmates are two or more people who are perfect for each other, or in other words, made for each other. The relationship is pure and loving, whether it's platonically or romantically. It can be a mother and her daughter, a father and his son, mentors, lovers, or even a friendship so strong and intimate, it's unbreakable.

Having a soulmate is as much of a blessing as it is a curse.

If a pair of soulmates die of old age, they are the ones lucky enough to pass peacefully, hand in hand. It is common for soulmates to pass at the same time if it's of a natural cause such as cancer and old age. They are naturally drawn to each other, with no other way to explain it. Others are not so lucky.

If one is killed or their life is taken by an unnatural force, the other is killed in a similar fashion. They see their soulmate from afar at first, but slowly inch closer as time passes by. If the one who passed has had health problems previously, the other tends to develop it within the months before their death. (Ex. If one had asthma, the other develops it after their passing.) Another symptom is constant coughing fits, which leads to coughing up blood as their soulmate inches closer. From what we have observed, they tend to die in the arms of their soulmate after they make contact.

There is no cure or reversible affects if you have a soulmate, and no way to know until after death. If these symptoms start to happen, start saying goodbye and make the most of your time left. Hold those around you close, and tell them you love them.

"This is about your friend, the one with the coke bottle glasses and Hawaiian shirts, isn't it? Richie Tozier? He was the last and first person to read the book, he came in a couple of weeks ago asking about the same thing."

Ben nodded numbly, trying to process and sort through the information. There had been plenty of murders and disappearances in Derry thanks to a certain child eating clown.

Betty Ripsom.

Patrick Hockstetter.

Georgie Denbrough.

Eddie Corcoran.

Oscar Bowers.

Ben didn't want to think about who else was killed. He shook his head clear of the thoughts and names, focusing on the task at hand. He had to get this to the losers.

"Can I check this out? I- I need to show this to my friends, if Richie was here for the book then he probably knows what--"

"Go, Ben. Don't worry about checking it out, just make sure to bring it back. Go be a hero and help your friend. He needs it." She gave his a soft push in the direction of the door, but it was enough to get him moving. He rushed out a quick thank you, and ran to his bike outside, placing the book in the basket. He pushed off and began pedaling towards the clubhouse.

***

Ben rushed down the steps in a flurry, and slammed the book down on the nearest spot on the table. The others rushed toward the book, eager to figure out what was wrong with Richie. He watched their expressions carefully, to see if they saw as much reason behind it as he did.

The color slowly drain from their faces as they finished reading the section. Some shared concerned glances, confirming their suspicions and questions.

"That's why he was constantly wheezing after biking. He had developed asthma." 

"That explains why he was coughing up blood last time he was here."

"He left out ice cream that one time at the ice cream parlor, right? On the table across the room? He saw someone."

"A-a-and the t-time at the Quarry! He s-s-saw s-someone a-a-across the l-l-lake."

"Plenty of people died in the last few months though. It could be any one of Pennywise's victims. I bet it was Betty, he wouldn't stop reminding us about her."

Stan inhaled sharply. The remaining losers turned to him, waiting for his input on the situation. He let out a shaky breath, and looked up at them with misty eyes.

"Eddie. He saw him in the hammock on the day he coughed up blood. A-at the parlor, he got two cones, a tradition for him and Eddie. Vanilla is his favorite flavor. The asthma too! That explains--" Stan stilled. "He saw Eddie in the hammock. The hammock guys, that was less than 10 feet away from him! We have to find him, guys please-"

Bill rushed over and grabbed Stan's hand, quickly putting it against his chest and inhaled deeply, trying to get Stan to slow his breathing. He continued to exaggerate his breathing until Stan collapsed against him. They both looked up, shakily.

"We have to find him, guys, please. At least to say goodbye to him? I can't handle loosing another friend w-without telling them goodbye or that I love them." Stan had tears dripping down his face, and Bill's shoulders shook softly.

The remaining three nodded, not trusting their voices. Bill and Stan stood up, still holding hands for support. As much as Mike, Ben, and Bev loved Richie and Eddie, they didn't know them nearly as long as Bill and Stan did. Bill and Eddie were best friends and Stan and Richie were best friends, and when they combined into one friend group in kindergarten, they were inseparable.

They swiftly climbed out of the clubhouse, and began their search for their dying friend.

+-+-+ 0 hours left +-+-+

Richie knew he was dying from the first time he began to see Eddie. The text book from the library just confirmed his suspicions.

He saw him as he was walking to lunch a couple weeks after the had defeated It. The bell had just rung and he made his way out of the classroom, and walked through the halls to his locker. He slammed his fist under the lock, making it pop open. He set his lunch in the locker, deciding he didn't want to eat it. His stomach hadn't stopped bugging him, and he had just assumed it was something he had eaten. He finished sorting through his stuff when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt. He locked his locker, and turned around expecting to see Stan, or maybe Mike. What he did not expect was Henry Bowers and his two remaining cronies.

He stated to take off running, but one of the three bullies tugged on his backpack, looping their hands around his arms.

"We're not letting you get away that easily Tozier. You still have a debt to pay for trying to turn my cousin into a fag." Henry crooned, and started to walk towards a quieter part of the school. His goons followed him, dragging a kicking Richie behind them. He tried to scratch at their arms and kick one of them, but it was to no avail.

"This is a nice and quiet spot, isn't it boys?" Henry cackled, and turned around, staring Richie down with a malicious grin. "Pin him down."

"Wait--!" Richie shouted, trying to stop the inevitable torture about to happen.

Belch and Victor shoved him against a wall, and Richie slammed his head against the cold concrete. He cried out, but was quieted by a mean punch across the face. He flexed his jaw, wincing at the pain. That would leave a mark.

Henry shoved his forearm against Richie's throat, and got in his face. His breath was hot and smelled of rotting flesh and sewer, and his eyes were unsettling, almost as if he was possessed.

"Admit it, Tozier. You're a freak. An outcast from society. A monster you only see in movies. I can go on for days, Tozier, but that's not what I want right now. I want to hear you admit it."

"Say what?" Richie stared at Bowers, feeling blood pool in his mouth. he definitely messed up one of his already crooked teeth.

Bowers leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Admit that dirty little secret of yours. I want to hear you admit to us that you're a fucking faggot." He pulled back, smiling sharply at him.

"Fuck you." Richie hissed.

He gathered all the bloody spit in his mouth and launched it at Henry's face, with fire in his eyes. Bowers stepped back, shocked. He quickly recovered, and wiped the spit off of his face and onto the floor.

"Oh, you asked for it now, Tozier." Henry whipped out his knife and Richie flinched. Victor and Belch held on to his arms tighter, tight enough to leave bruises. Richie knew what that knife did. Ben had proof of it etched into his side. He squirmed, but he knew it was inevitable.

Richie screamed out. Holy shit, was that painful. The knife slowly dragged across his skin, leaving a long scratch with blood oozing from it. He kicked out, catching Bowers in the shoulder. He turned his gaze to him.

"Pin him on the floor, make sure to hold his legs. Can't have him lashing out again can we?" They threw him down to the floor, lading harshly on his side. He yelped and scrambled away. Hands grabbed his ankles dragging him back. He flinched as he felt the cold trace of the knife dragging across his hip.

Bowers continued on mercilessly, and at some point someone had covered his mouth to prevent him from screaming. He tried to fight against their touch, but he was too weak.

"Maybe next time you'll know not to flirt with my cousin, Bucky Beaver. Stick to the other fairies in town, like what's his name..." Henry mockingly tapped his chin.

"Don't you dare say his name, you giant piece of shit—" Richie bucked, and the two kids holding him down let him go.

"Eddie Kaspbrak, the local dead kid. You into that shit too, freak?" Henry and his goons got up. Henry stalked closer, and pressed Richie back against the floor with a heavy boot. He leaned down, and spat in his face.

"A taste of your own medicine." He delivered several harsh kicks to his side, and stalked off, his two lackeys trailing behind him.

Richie groaned and laid on the floor for a little while. He knew that he should move, the lunch bell was bound to ring any time now. He curled into a ball, gathering his bearings.

Glasses? Check.

Backpack? Check.

Pride? Check back later.

He rolled over and picked himself up, wincing as he aggravated his wounds. He limped over to the exit doors, knowing that the best option was to get gauze to cover the wound. As he made his way down the street, he could tell people were staring.

Soon enough, he'd made it to the pharmacy. He gathered some disinfectant wipes and gauze and made his way to the register, where a middle aged man stared down at him sympathetically. 

"Bowers gang get to ya?" The cashier questioned, staring at Richie's bleeding side and bruised face. Richie nodded, and scrambled to find money in the backpack.

"Keep it, kid. You look like you need it more than I do. And grab a bag of chips while your at it. I'll say some mullet-wearing asswipe was stalking around, and he looked suspicious." The clerk smiled at him, and handed him the bagged supplies.

"Oh, uh...thanks sir. You really didn't need to, at least let me pay for the chips—"

"Don't make me add a drink to your bag. Go. Remember, whatever they said isn't true. You know yourself better than those meatheads ever can hope to, and don't let them take what makes you, you. Be proud."

Richie's cheeks burned bright, and he quickly left the store with a quiet thank you to the man. He stumbled over to the park restrooms, and set out the supplies infant of him. He looked to his reflection, and realized why the store clerk was so cryptic.

The blood had seeped through his shirt, staining it bright red. In the same spot where his cuts were, FAG was pulled out in ruby red dye. He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, and slowly peeled off the undershirt.

He made quick work with bandaging his side, remembering to disinfect it first. He could here Eddie's voice rambling in his ear. Do you want to get sick and die of a disease or infection? Always make sure to clean out the wound first, stupid!

Soon enough, his side was bandaged and his Hawaiian shirt was buttoned up. He cleaned up the mess he had left behind, and shakily stood up.

You got this Trashmouth, just like the store-guy said. Be proud.

His reflection didn't say anything back, but it wasn't like he had been expecting it to. He snorted. 

He situated himself under a large, shady tree and grabbed the chips from his bag. He reached into the cool ranch Doritos bag and grabbed a chip. He began to nibble on the corner.  
He looked up and observed the people hanging out around the park.

There was an elderly couple walking their two little dogs around the park, with both dogs yipping like crazy as the couple chatted lazily.

He saw what he assumed to be a little kid's birthday party, going off of the pointy hats and colorful cake. He could really go for some chocolate cake right about now.

Eddie was standing far away at the street corner down the road, staring directly at him.

A couple of teenagers were snogging behind the stage--

Richie threw off his glasses and scrubbed at the vigorously. He looked back to where Eddie was standing seconds ago, but no one was standing anywhere near there, not even a car drove through the intersection.

He scoffed and rubbed his teary eyes. Of course he couldn't see Eddie. Eddie was trapped beneath the flooded sewers under the Neibolt house, stabbed through the stomach and thrown into the well to drown, being tugged down by the deadweight of Pennywise.

Eddie was dead.

The fact that Eddie was dead sure as hell didn't stop him from seeing him stroll around Derry though.

He soon adjusted to the shadow trailing closer behind him, just like how he adjusted to the phantom pains around his stomach and throat, and the asthma and the coughing fits that ended with hacked up blood. He adjusted to the fact he was going to die soon.

He huffed amusedly at the morbid thought. Better to not mention that in the letters.

Soon after he figured out the cause of his problem, he began to write letters to each of the losers, and another one to both of his parents. So far Stan's was the longest, Bill being a close second. The shortest one was to his parents surprisingly, thanking them for giving him food, shelter, all the important stuff. He made sure to explain what had happened in one letter addressed to all of them, but he suspected they were probably close to figuring it out. It's not everyday that your friend coughs up blood and claims to see their dead best friend. He also made sure to apologize. Losing two of your closest friends within a year with take a toll on you.

He turned around and snagged his pocketknife off the desk, shoving it into his back pocket. He pulled out the letters from the panel under the desk drawer, placing them into his bag.

"They might not even get to read the letters if you take them, stupid. I vividly remember getting stabbed through the stomach, where your bag will be, meaning they will get torn. Also, did I mention that I died drowning, too? Paper and ink don't mix doofus. Leave on your bed or desk. Don't mail them though, they could get lost." Eddie spoke from over his shoulder, inches away from him. Richie had learned not to flinch by now, and knew to not to try and make contact. When they first tried to touch each other they felt as if they were severely shocked, with left them both yelping and avoiding contact after the incident.

"Oh Spagetti-man, what would I ever do without you and your brilliant brain?" Richie called dramatically, shuffling through his bag to find the letters. He played them out in two piles across the bed, the losers' letters in a separate pile from his parents.

"Don't call me that! And it's called common sense, dipshit." Eddie hesitated. "Did you make sure to add my notes to them too, 'Chee?" He spoke the latter with a softer tone.

"Yeah, I put it in the envelopes with my letters to them. Is that okay?" Richie turned to Eddie, who nodded. The atmosphere was quiet, both boys knowing that Richie would die in less than 24 hours. It made it even worse that he would die in Eddie's arms.

"Wanna take a trip with your ever so romantic soulmate to the Kissing Bridge? I have to make sure that the town knows of my undying, passionate love for--"

"Don't you fucking say it--"

"--my dearest Sonia Kaspbrak! Ms. K, I'll never forget her and the sweet love--!"

"Alright, alright we get it, blah, blah, blah. Let's go walk around, or I'll zap you," Eddie threatened, but backtracked under Richie's raised eyebrow. "Okay maybe not, cause that fucking hurts, but you get the point."

Richie cackled, and they made their way to the Kissing Bridge. When the arrived to the bridge, Eddie walked straight to a wood carving. Eddie gazed at it adoringly.

R+E.

Eddie liked to think that he or Richie might've carved it, he was much too scared to carve his own. The amount of times he remembers making his way through here staring at the carving, daydreaming about what it could mean and how much he wished he were brave enough to write one of his own on the bridge. Too bad he died before he could do it.

"Hey Rich? I need to tell you something--" Eddie cut himself off, taking in Richie's appearance slowly. His skin was pale, and he was leaning against the bridge heavily, knees knocking together and hands shaking like crazy. His breath came out wheezy and strained.

"Eddie, I think it's happening. Like right now." He squeaked, and stumbled forward. Eddie jumped to catch him without giving it a second thought. He made contact with Richie and flinched. No shock.

Richie shivered and curled up into a ball against Eddie's chest, arms wrapped tightly around his core. They stayed like that for several minutes, and Richie slowly stood up.

"Am I dead? That was anticlimactic--" Richie cut himself off with a blood-curdling scream. "--Nope! Definitely not dead." He collapsed into a ball again, occasionally letting out gargled screams. He coughed, and blood flew into the corner of his elbow. Richie looked at his hand, and down to his stomach. He slowly lifted his shirt up, staring at the mess before him.

His stomach was all cut up, skin torn and blood gushing from the wounds. You could almost see to the other side. Jesus, had Eddie been stabbed this badly? He pushed himself away from the wall, and promptly collapsed against the rotting wood of the bridge. Eddie scrambled over, feeling helpless. He pressed his fingers to Richie wrist looking for a pulse. He felt a weak pulse, and sighed in relief. He's not dead, he's alive.

Shit, he's alive.

Richie's leg was tugged toward the bridge edge by an unseen force, and soon enough Richie was thrown in the cold water. Richie's eyes flew open, and a screamed bubbled out of the water. An invisible barrier was holding him down, and Eddie scrambled to help him, but he wouldn't budge.

Eddie kept trying to tug him out of the water, and soon after Richie passed out he flew out of the water into Eddie's arm, causing both of them to stumble back. He ended up dragging him back up to the bridge by under his arms. He places Richie's sopping wet form against the wood plank under the carving, and scrambled to sit next to him. He leaned Richie's head on his shoulder, keeping one hand on the pulse in his neck, the other over Richie's wrist.

"Come on Rich, wake up." Eddie felt the pulse dropping, going slower and slower as time passed. He had enough of it.

"Richard Wentworth Tozier, I swear to fucking god..." He scrambled around, facing Richie. He shook his shoulders, but it was to no avail. He cursed under his breath, and leaned forward.

Eddie kissed him softly, and Richie didn't respond. Eddie cursed himself internally. Of course he wouldn't! He's dying, and if he's dead why would he respond? Right as he was going to pull away, he fell Richie smile and lean into the kiss. It lasted a couple of seconds before Eddie pulled back slowly, staring at Richie with wide eyes. Both boys blushed like crazy, and Richie looked down, rubbing the back of his neck.

"H-hey Eddie Spaghetti, how's the afterlife treating ya? Well, I hope?" Richie stuttered out, not looking up.

"You just scared me half to death, and I just kissed you. Is that really all you have to say?" Eddie said exasperatedly, arms crossed.

"Uhhh... you kinda surprised me there, buddy. I'm like, mentally reevaluating all of my life choices up to this point in my head and reorganizing it. You like me? Holy shit." Richie looked dazed. He looked up at Eddie and smiled, face still red from blushing.

Eddie lunged forward and hugged him fiercely.

"Yeah, if you didn't realize I like you. Like, like-like you. That why I kissed you, dumbass. You scared the shit out of me! Sorry if things are weird now, I get if you don't wanna keep me around as much, I'll give you some space. Not right now though, I deserve this hug for you scaring me so much, asshole. I was gonna tell you before you died but things kept coming up, like the letters and how much time was left and how to break the news to the losers, and then the stupid carving by your head kept on taunting me so I decided to just do it--" Eddie began rambling, but Richie cut him off, and wrapped his arms lightly around him.

"What stupid carving?" Richie asked faintly, still sorting through his thoughts.

Eddie pointed to the one above them, to Richies side where he was originally sitting. "That R+E above your head. I was to scared to carve my own so I liked to think it was ours, it's really dumb--"

Richie squeaked, and covered his face. Eddie scrambled back, staring at Richie.

"Uhm... maybe don't think that it's ours?"

"Yeah, right sorry I won't do it again--" Eddie tried to finish apologizing, but Richie scrambled forward.

"That's not what I meant! I didn't mean it like 'Don't imagine or pretend it's our initials', I meant for it to come out like 'it's our initials,' you know? It doesn't need to be in carvings for you to know that, right? Richie+Eddie, it's always been like that for us, so it's the same, kind of, right? Not Richie and Eddie, more like RichieandEddie, like one big, clusterfuck of a word. Your really brave to admit it, too--" Eddie looked at Richie with a confused expression, trying to decipher that mess of words. Richie scrubbed his hands down his face. "Fuck I'm rambling." Richie hid his face in his hands.

"Uhm, Richie? I didn't get half of that mess, so if you could repeat it? Like, ten times slower, would be helpful." Eddie sat in front of Richie, watching and waiting patiently.

"Holy cow, I'm shit at emotions... what I'm trying to say, is that I scratched out the carving. Like a year ago. After you died. Alone. Sorry about that, by the way." Richie peeked through his fingers, trying to gauge his reaction. Silence hangs in the air between them.

"You're are such an asshole." Eddie says finally. Richie looks up just in time to see Eddie lunge at him. He shrieks, expecting to be mauled by a furious Edward Kaspbrak, flying him to kill him with his own bare hands. He begins to mentally plan his funeral in his head. Can you even die if your already dead? He doesn't know. He was beginning to accept his fate only to be pulled into-

-a hug.

"...Oh. This is nice." Richie says weakly, still not totally processing that:

1: He's 100%, completely, totally dead. Kind of.

2: Eddie was hugging him, and just told him that he like-liked Richie and pretended that his carving stood for their initials.

3: He just confessed his feelings for Eddie.

"It's called a hug, Chee, you know when you wrap your arms around someone and--" Eddie scoffed, starting to let go of Richie.

Richie scrambled, and pulled Eddie back into a hug.

"I get it, doofus. Don't trash the Trashmouth." Richie buried his head into the crook of Eddie's neck. "I get it."

+-+-+ 0 hours left +-+-+

"Guys, I think i found him! Over here, on the bridge!" Mike called out to the other losers, and they collectively scrambled off of their bikes. They rushed over to the slumped figure, hoping to find their loudmouth friend.

What they did not expect to find was the still forms of their scatterbrained trashmouth and spitfire hypochondriac slumped against the bridge in each other's arms.

Stan collapsed on his knees with Bill not far behind him. Stan tugged his hand out of Bill's grasp and shook Richie's shoulders, jostling Eddie from his position. Bill tugged Eddie into his grasp and clutched his wrist.

"Guys, he's still warm, we've got to go to the hospital there has to be something they can do. They can put them into a medically induced coma until they find a cure, then maybe we can help them both find a way to get through this. He's still warm guys, we need to get help. Come on-"

Bill cut him off, voice trembling. "He has no pulse, Stan. He's gone."

Stan whipped his head around to the other losers. Ben was hugging Beverly tightly, with his face hidden from view. Bev had tears racing down her cheeks, and she clutched the back of Ben's shirt tightly. Mike stood to the side of them with tears silently streaking down his face, shoulders quivering.

"You guys can't really believe this, we fought a demon clown from another world, for godsake. The stupid book has to be wrong, they don't have enough on the fucking study. Besides, there's absolutely no blood."

"L-l-look u-up at the c-c-c-carvings, Stan." Bill choked out, pointing toward the old wood of the bridge.

Above where Richie and Eddie were originally sat was the rough carving of a set of initials, bathed in deep red blood. The blood formed a crude heart around the letters, which were filled against all laws of gravity.

R+E

"No no no no no, that can't be true, we can still help them, guys we can still help them-" Mike tugged on Stan's shoulder and drew him into a hug. Stan pounded on his chest, trying to get back to Richie. Ben and Bev flinched at Stan's motions, and began the slow trek to Richie's house, forgoing the bikes.

"I never got to say goodbye, we need to help them-" Stan's hands slowed down, and Bill looked at Mike. He rested his hand on top of Stan's and tugged it into his own grip. 

"L-let's go see if t-t-t-there's a-anything left at R-r-r-r-" Bill sniffled, and wiped his wet cheeks. " his h-house, okay? W-w-we'll call t-the police, t-they'll help."

Stan mumbled. "The police here don't do jack shit." 

"S-still b-better than what w-we could do." 

Stan sighed, and started making his way to his bike which was thrown on the ground. Mike made an obvious effort to block his view from Eddie and Richie. Stan was too worn out to call him out for it.

Bill lingered for a second. He turned his head to where Richie and Eddie laid in each others' arms. If it weren't for the fact that the two boys' hearts weren't beating, the scene looked like it would be out of a fairytale. Two lovers resting in each others embrace with the sun warming their skin and making them glow warmly. The gentle rushing of water racing under the old wood bridge blended beautifully with the critters living in the forest of trees and greenery. Bill let out a watery chuckle.

"You just had to go out with a bang, didn't ya? We could've tried to help, you could've warned us. Don't you think we've been through enough?" 

Bill stared down on Richie's pale face, and waited for an answer. He sighed, disappointed but not surprised about the lack of response. The quiet atmosphere made everything seem ten times louder in his ears.

"Beep beep, Rich." 

Bill choked down a sob, and made his way off of the wooden bridge.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, even if it was sort of depressing! On a side note, sorry if the emotion level is really low, I have the emotional knowledge and capability of a dead slug encased in a salt rock :) If the writing is funny, i apologize for that too.


End file.
